


Your Mother Knows Best

by BourbonNeat



Category: Top Gear (UK) RPF
Genre: Coming Out, Episode Related, Episode: s06e04 Top Gear (UK), M/M, Mother-Son Relationship, Pining, TGS Secret Santa 2015
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-02
Updated: 2016-01-02
Packaged: 2018-05-11 00:44:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5607250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BourbonNeat/pseuds/BourbonNeat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes your mother really does know best, often as it turns out in Jeremy’s case. Set primarily during filming for series six.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Mother Knows Best

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the TGS 2015 Secret Santa Fic Exchange.
> 
> Based on the following prompt: Meeting the parents. When was the first time the presenters met each other’s mums? How did it go? Slash or gen. 
> 
> Disclaimer: This is fiction and is not meant to imply anything about the people who appear in the story.

Jeremy was fifteen when his mother caught him the first time, home from Repton for the summer and completely certain until just that moment that they had the house to themselves. Matthew wasn’t the first person he had ever kissed, not even the first bloke, but his was the first kiss that made Jeremy start to understand why so many writers saved their best words for this.

She gasped and muttered an awkward apology before shutting the door quickly and, to his ears at least, perhaps a bit more firmly than usual. Her expression truly had been one of surprise, verging on shock granted, but without even a trace of anything like disgust. Even so, the sound of her heels hurriedly clacking back down the hall sounded very much like an accusation to one suddenly petrified teenaged boy.

“Mum,” he’d confessed, after he’d finally worked up the courage to come find her. “I think I might like boys as much as I like girls.” Dragging his eyes up from the floor to meet hers was the most difficult thing he’d had to do thus far in his young life.

Something in the complete obviousness of this statement startled a laugh out of her, a barely stifled snigger that quickly grew into a full chuckle. “Well I should say so,” she finally managed.

Usually Jeremy loved provoking this reaction from people, especially from her, lived for it in fact, but today it just made him sad, weighing him down with the full implications of what he stood to lose.

“I’m so sorry.” He’d never meant it more.

“No, Jeremy, don’t apologize,” she said, eyes going moist. “You’re not – this isn’t…” She stumbled over the words a few more times and then settled for pulling him into her arms, letting the strength of her embrace say what she could not.

“This isn’t a wrong thing,” she said eventually. “It’s just a thing that it honestly never occurred to me to expect. You are my son and you are wonderful and I love you.”

Even though he’d passed her up the year before and she had to tug him down at the shoulders to kiss his forehead, her reassurance was every bit as comforting as it used to be when he actually was a small boy.

 

\-----

Jeremy and his mum had always been close, but he felt even closer to her after that.

She stood with him when he told his father, giving him a comforting smile while Dad digested the news. That second explanation had involved a lot more questions and several longer silences than his first one (because if Jeremy being bisexual was a thing it hadn’t occurred to Mum to expect, this was at least doubly true for Dad), but also ended in reassurance and a hug.

She gave him the stony silence and eventual bollocking he richly deserved after his expulsion from Repton. But she also encouraged his writing and supported him through his decision to leave the family sales job in pursuit of a far less certain future.

He was there for Mum when his father died. And it was Mum who helped him through his divorce, who understood that it was all too sadly possible for two good people to no longer be good for one another, but still work together to be excellent parents.

Well, Mum and James.

It wasn’t always smooth, of course. There are no perfect sons and no perfect mothers, but even as an adult he tended to think she came really bloody close.

 

\-----

“But, darts with cars James? Really?”

“No, seriously mate. We can use one of those nitrogen cannons they have for the stunts in James Bond.”

“So, this Apache pilot? Can we help load his missiles?”

“Ooh, can we check his targeting systems for him?”

“Well, if you get to electrocute Richard, it is only fair, after all.”

With Jeremy living more or less permanently in London now – aside from the odd weekend or two back at his old home with the children – James, Richard, and his mum all became frequent visitors to the flat. Mum stayed with him in part for the opportunity to see her grandchildren during their regular visits, but mostly just to look in on him. Jeremy never minded; on some level he knew he needed the looking after. Richard and James came to drink his beer and discuss Top Gear matters. All right, and probably to look in on him too.

Their meeting was such an inevitability that he never even considered how much of a test it truly was until long after the fact. Of course, he’d also never considered the possibility that the three of them would join forces to mock him, but he enjoyed it immensely when it happened.

Unlike Jeremy, it usually took his mother ages to warm up to new people. But she adored Richard and James from the start – much as she had Andy when she first met him back in their Repton days – and took to asking after them both on a regular basis. Especially James.

Honestly, there were times when she knew him entirely too well.

 

\-----

“Trying to pull a few more teeth, Jeremy?” 

That was the first question Mum asked after happily agreeing to assist with the latest car review he and Andy had cooked up. Not, ‘What will I have to do?’ or ‘When did you have in mind?’ or anything practical and easy to answer, just that. He couldn’t remember telling her that pulling teeth was his favorite description for trying to extract any personal information from James, at least not in so many words, but he wasn’t exactly surprised that she’d managed to pick up on it anyway.

“I’m not – That’s hardly the reason for the film, Mum. Andy and I needed a way to review a few practical family cars, like people are always after us to do, that actually fit in with the show. And this _is_ rather brilliant, if I may say so, and I can guarantee no one will be expecting it.” He never lied to her. “But, yes, the thought had crossed my mind.”

“So is this just another fact finding exercise,” she asked, her voice far more gentle than her words, “or are you eventually going to stop all of this ridiculous pining and actually tell the man?”

Jeremy scoffed, loudly. Ridiculous and pining hardly seemed like fair assessments of the situation. He knew that she was worried about him again, and she was probably right to – he never had been much good at being on his own. But this wanting of James wasn’t about his own occasional loneliness; he’d genuinely fancied the arse off the man for years. Still, he’d had to come to terms with reality on this issue and it was time she did as well.

“It’s never going to happen like that, Mum. He’s straight.”

To his surprise, she just laughed. “Is that what you think? Even with all of the jokes you and Richard come out with? I wouldn’t be too certain about that – I’ve seen the way he looks at you when you aren’t looking.”

He started to scoff again and complain that she was his mother, _of course_ she thought that everyone fancied him a bit. But the truth of the matter was that she didn’t. In fact, she was usually reasonably accurate about these things.

“Mother, the man had a girlfriend,” he reminded her, eager to be off of this subject and on to the far more comfortable topic of nailing down filming schedules.

“Yes, and you had a wife. ‘Not everyone enjoys choosing just one or the other,’ as I seem to remember a very tall lad with your hair reminding me on more than one occasion.”

Many people thought that Jeremy inherited his stubbornness from his father, and he could certainly understand how someone who had known the man might make that assumption. But for sheer obstinacy, Dad had never been able to hold a candle to Mum.

“And besides,” she continued in a knowing voice, once it obvious he really didn’t have a response for that. “ _Was_ dating, you say? When did that come about?”

One month before James had bothered to tell his Top Gear mates, as a matter of fact, and even then only because they were finally sufficiently worried about his more Eeyore-like than usual behavior to drag the information from him. At least, that was the timeframe Jeremy was most fixated on, and still feeling more than a bit sulky over some three months later, if he was honest.

Pulling teeth, indeed.

 

\-----

Even without his mother’s all too knowing attention focused on his love life – or, just lately, complete and utter lack of same – Jeremy would have been nervous about filming what the crew had starting referring to as ‘the one with the mums’.

First, there was the matter of the mums. He’d met both of Richard’s parents several times before when Hammond brought them ‘round to see a particular car they were testing that week, or to join the studio audience and watch them make the show, occurrences that warmed his heart and helped strike one more late night worry from his very long list. (Jeremy was painfully aware of how close Richard came to quitting during the disastrous filming of their first two pilots – both so completely awful that even James hadn’t seen them. Inviting his parents to Dunsfold meant that the Hamster saw Top Gear as home.) However, he’d never met Mrs. May before and he desperately wanted to make a good impression.

Then there was the film itself. As Jeremy told his mum, no one would be expecting this, and that was exciting. However, experience had taught him that ideas straying this far from their usual fare were just as likely to spell disaster as success. It was well worth the risk, but…

He needn’t have worried. The film, both in terms of the final result and the process of making it, would go down as one of his personal favorites.

 

\-----

“Well I was all for the Jazz, until I drove the Renault,” Mrs. May explained. “And then I started to waiver. Although I wasn’t driving Top Gear speeds on the track–”

“Ooh hoo hoo, I don’t know about _that_!” Normally Jeremy would have felt rude for interrupting her, even when his outburst was intended as a compliment, well, and comedy. But she was smiling, and somewhere along the way she’d stop feeling so much like a friend’s mother and more just like someone he got on with. Anyway, James had started it. Sort of.

Mrs. May just laughed at their ridiculousness and raised her voice a bit to keep talking over them. “Going around those bends, it stuck like glue to the road and I was very impressed with it.”

“That was a one minute, eleven second lap you did there!” He exclaimed, unwilling to let it drop. Not after Richard’s inspired Stig jokes back at the track, and certainly not when he had both Mays laughing like that and the others starting to join in.

Jeremy’s inner editor cautioned him to reign it in a bit for the cameras. Their conversation had already strayed far afield many times, and Andy was even going to have edit the usable parts heavily to fit the time due to prolonged fits of laughter. But the chemistry was bubbling along beautifully, which was going to look fantastic on telly, and he was having far too much fun to mind besides. He caught Andy’s eye across the room and could tell from his smile that they were on the same page – this was all working out so much better than their original plan for the mothers to reach their final verdict in the Portakabin, brilliantly even.

He turned his attention back to the discussion around the table. His own mum and Mrs. Hammond were singing the praises of the Jazz again and slowly coaxing Mrs. May back around from her love of the Renault’s grip on the track. Jeremy honestly couldn’t say whose facial expressions were more amusing to watch, Richard’s or James’, but either way it was clear that he, and eventually the viewers, were getting a very good idea of what they’d both been like as teenagers.

In keeping with one of the more regular perils of Top Gear filming, by the time the cameras stopped rolling on their “pub lunch” verdict scene, it was already past dinner time – and this had been a comparatively hassle-free shoot – so they just stayed where they were, ordering food and drink and continuing the conversation.

“ _You_ bought him his first motorbike?” Mrs. Clarkson asked, surprised.

“There was no keeping him from them,” explained Mrs. Hammond, with that mix of pride and exasperation that Jeremy had just learned today was not unique to his own mum. “Richard started counting down the days until he could ride one almost as soon as he could count, and we finally decided it was best he had something in good condition…”

Jeremy hadn’t really anticipated this turn of events, and judging by the uncertain looks around the table, neither had James or Richard. Of course, it had to be rather odd being any of their parents and trying to engage in the usual conversations about what the children were up to. Finding other people who could easily relate to tales of strange schedules, constant travel, random autograph seekers interrupting family excursions, and occasional worries about random daredevilry (or, if you were Hammond’s mum, about your son being electrocuted, drowned in a sinking car, and hypnotized into acting like a complete numpty on telly) had to be quite refreshing. As more stories found their way into the conversation, the presenters muttered and complained a bit, in the fashion of the embarrassed school boys they so often regressed into being, but none of them actually made any real attempt to stop it. Were they being kind and indulging their mothers, or was there just too much valuable piss-taking fodder in letting your mates’ mums go on and on to risk ending it by changing the subject too sternly on your own?

“Well, you never had to worry after James like that, I’m sure,” said Mrs. Hammond as she finished another story. “He was always a good boy, right?”

Jeremy’s mum caught his eye, her raised eyebrows in amused disagreement with this assessment.

Mrs. May just laughed. “James? Oh yes, he was always a very good boy.” She nodded, pausing briefly in the telling with a mischievous glint in her eye that reminded him instantly of her son. “And the naughtiest good boy ever.”

If that wasn’t the lead-in to a sure to be great story, Jeremy didn’t know what was. He was amused to find himself leaning forward, like one of the stars eager for their lap time, along with the others. Well, except for James who slouched a bit deeper into his chair, looking both fond and resigned.

“No motorbikes, right?” She continued. “I said it – said it many times, same as you no doubt – and you can see just how well that worked out.”

Mrs. Hammond giggled, a sweet girlish thing reminiscent of the giddy, child-like quality of Richard’s laugh when he was exceptionally pleased with something.

“Anyway, this one turns up, riding this huge old thing…”

James shook his head quietly in the corner and muttered something that sounded like ‘only a Honda Super Cub’, earning Richard’s nod of approval, but Jeremy didn’t quite catch the year.

“…loud and smoky. Fumes everywhere. With this curly-haired yob of a boy in tow.” And there was that tone again: pride, extreme fondness, and exasperation in equal measure. Mrs. May shook her head, laughing. “’James, I said no motorbikes,’ I reminded him. ‘Oh no mum,’ he says. ‘It’s not mine, it’s Peter’s.’ Right. Of course. It’s Peter’s.”

Was that a flush he saw coloring James’ cheeks? How odd. He knew the man got twitchy about his privacy, but his mum was hardly sharing anything earthshattering, even from an exceptionally James-ish perspective. Except, Mrs. May had noticed it now too. She barely missed a beat in her storytelling, but blinked her eyes in surprise, a subtle, particularly James-like change of expression that would have been lost on anyone not given to excessive May-watching these past few months. And then James nodded his head in response, ever so slightly.

_What the… Oh. Oh!_ Mrs. May hadn’t said ‘this’ at all, she’d said ‘his’ – _His_ curly-haired yob of a boy – and she’d said it so matter-of-factly that his ear skipped right over it.

“…anyway, before I knew it, James got his father talking about how to fix the exhaust, and they had it torn apart all over the garage tinkering with it. James was grinning ear to ear, he loved the bloody thing so much, and at that point, well, what can you say?” She spread her hands in defeat, smiling wryly at her son.

“Oh you said plenty, as I recall,” James teased fondly, matching her tone for tone.

“Yes, but you kept the motorbike, did you not?”

James said something in the affirmative before settling back into his chair with a mischievous grin. But the calm exterior was a lie and he kept shooting glances at Jeremy and Richard when he thought they weren’t looking, a fact which Jeremy noticed because, of course, he was doing the same thing.

All right, so clearly Jeremy wasn’t the only one on the team who liked blokes as much as girls. Or rather, James liked blokes enough there had been at least one boyfriend in his youth, of whom his mother had seemed quite fond. Furthermore, the having of said boyfriend tripped off of her tongue in the same natural way that any other perfectly unremarkable thing might – Jeremy knew he’d liked her! – and she was in fact surprised to learn that his Top Gear mates didn’t already know – again, points for the greater wisdom of mums.

Later, once Jeremy had stopped obsessing quite so much over pronouns, his brain finally managed to flag a few adjectives for his attention as well, which was interesting. Which held the greater responsibility for his colleague’s flushed cheeks?

But even more than that, why did everything have to be such a great sodding secret with James? Did he really think so little of them?

 

\-----

When Jeremy eventually drifted outside the pub, it was because he was in desperate need of a fag. That was all.

He certainly wasn’t concerned about James. If the stupid spaniel wanted to go on not telling his best mates, well, anything really, Jeremy supposed that was his business, but he deserved every bit of agitation he might feel on the subject. And he was not following after James either. One of the three of them went out for a smoke, and the others eventually joined them. That was just the way of things.

Once he saw James, however, that weird protective instinct that sometimes came over him, the one that made him want to bring the man a cup of tea and take the piss out of his shirt until he was smiling again, chased the sulk right out of him. Leaning against the wall of the otherwise deserted smoking area, James’ tension was visible, from the set of his jaw and the stiff line of his shoulders, to slight the twitch in the fingers holding the cigarette that Captain Absentminded kept lifting distractedly to his lips.

“You know,” Jeremy said, taking up residence against the wall beside him. “I’m told they’re a lot easier to smoke when you remember to light them first.”

Startled from his reverie, James blinked at him owlishly until he processed the lighter in Jeremy’s hand.

“Oh, no. No thank you.” His smile was almost shy in response to Jeremy’s quizzical look. “Mum doesn’t know that I smoke.”

Jeremy couldn’t help himself and burst out laughing, almost burning himself and dropping the fag he’d been attempting to light in the process. “Your mum doesn’t know that you… James, you pillock! You do know that you’re actually 42, right?”

“Well yes, of course. I dunno.” He shrugged. “She was a nurse for so many years and she hates them–”

“And you are the naughtiest good boy ever?”

James’ smile grew a little wider, some of the twinkle returning to his eyes. “Something like that.”

_Oh I do love you, you ridiculous, impossible man._ Just how such a sweet, befuddled streak could exist within such a clever, often devious mind, he had no…

_Love. Right. So more than wanting then. More than just some preposterous, never-ending crush._ He couldn’t help but think that revelation should have felt like more of a surprise. Next to him, James was starting to relax a bit, but still radiating tension. Jeremy wanted nothing more than to hug the man, but restrained himself. With James it was never that simple, perhaps especially now.

“Here, Slow. Trust me, you need this,” he said, holding his own lit cigarette up to James’ mouth.

James hesitated for a second, then leaned forward eagerly. The light brush of faintly chapped lips followed by warm fingers against his hand did funny things to Jeremy’s insides, and the sight of James’ blue eyes slipping shut as he took a long, slow drag, threatened to do even funnier things to the state of his trousers.

“Blame it on that curly-haired yob of a boy,” he teased by way of recovering himself as James passed the cigarette back. “Sounds like you’ve had a bit of practice at that.”

James’ eyes flew open and there was that flush again. “Um. About that…”

This time Jeremy didn’t resist the urge to touch, reaching out to give his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “It’s like I’ve always said, May: men should go out with men. I mean, I happen to enjoy going out with women as well, but the point still stands.”

James blinked in surprise. “Oh? Oh.”

“Yes, oh. And possibly er and any number of other eloquent statements you’d care to utter.”

That finally earned Jeremy the laugh he’d been seeking, a deep, rich, infectious sound, punctuated by the occasional seal’s bark, that he couldn’t resist joining in. Leaning on James’ shoulder, gasping for air, he felt so much for this man, fondness beyond measure. Eventually he was going to have to do something about this, but Jeremy just couldn’t bring himself to spoil this moment, not even now that he was mostly certain he wouldn’t be punched. Not when James was loose and relaxed, and they were touching, and his smile was so very open and happy. Not when the thought that he had managed to coax this out of James was still something bight and warm in his chest. Eventually, but not today.

 

\-----

In the manner all things that you look forward to but with trembling knees, eventually came both much later than Jeremy had hoped and far too soon. And, oddly enough, whilst smoking again – this time outside their hotel after filming the final verdict scene for their convertibles road test in Iceland.

 

\-----

“Ugh, I don’t think I want to go to dinner with you two anymore,” Richard groaned. “You know I don’t like strange things with weird bits.”

“Well yes,” Jeremy said with an eager gleam in his eye, cutting off James’ half-muttered ‘Ah, but do you want to eat with us any less?’ “But this time the bits would be puffin. Grated over the top.” He helpfully mimed a sprinkling gesture, just in case Richard had somehow failed to grasp the point.

Richard gagged theatrically. “Oh God. That's disgusting, Jeremy. Even more so than usual. I think I’m going to…” He made frantic gestures in the general direction of back inside as he stubbed out his cigarette. “Right.” And fled.

Settling back against the wall, Jeremy almost felt guilty. Almost. He hadn’t actually set out to chase Richard away, but the little pikey had been making grumbling noises about quitting again anyway, and he couldn’t deny the way his stomach flipped pleasantly upon finding himself unexpectedly alone with James. James, who was currently honking and wheezing his way through his dying goose, donkey’s bray of a laugh and, God help him, but Jeremy was so far gone on the man that he basked in the sound.

“I don't seem to remember this hotel having whale on the menu, Jezza,” James finally managed, though his shoulders were still shaking. “Let alone with grated puffin.”

“True. But fortunately for my amusement, Hammond has failed to make the same observation.”

They sniggered conspiratorially.

“I don't like puffin,” said Jeremy in his best Brummie accent.

“I don't like whale,” James agreed, eyes twinkling mischievously. 

Eventually their laughter subsided into companionable silence as they lingered over their cigarettes. The hot spring waters surrounding the hotel steamed copiously in the chilled air, giving their view of one of the many bridges a misty, almost fairytale quality in the fading light. It was beautiful – enough to send his writer’s brain happily skittering over dozens of adjectives searching for just the right words to capture it – but also terribly cold. Unconsciously they moved closer together and Jeremy noticed that James was shivering. Rather a lot.

“Cold, Slow?”

“No.” He said brusquely while his shoulders continued to shake.

Which was so very James, that Jeremy simply could not keep the waves of fondness he felt from bubbling up into laughter. Before he even realized what he was doing, he had moved closer, pressing against James’ side to share his warmth. He hesitated a moment as his brain caught up with his actions, then draped a matey arm around the shoulders of his shivering co-presenter. Mostly matey at any rate.

James didn’t move away and he didn’t flinch – which was practically a miracle of May-dom, really – but he didn’t press any closer to take advantage of the offered warmth either, just stood there stiff as a board, waiting. The awkwardness proved contagious and Jeremy found himself frozen in place as well, too scared of fucking everything up to take this any further, but too giddy over the delicious surprise of being even this close to move away. Nervously, he took a final drag on his cigarette, before stubbing it out and tossing it into the bin. Watched James out of the corner of his eye, looking for some sort of sign, drawn to the sight of long, elegant fingers and pursed lips as the man took another thoughtful puff, then a second and a third before stubbing his cigarette out as well.

“Jeremy,” James finally ventured quietly, and no, the rare use of his full name was not lost on him. “Is there any chance that you actually know what you’re doing?” 

_In for a penny, in for a pound. Please don’t let me be misreading this._

“’Course. Don’t I always?” And he tugged James a little closer, a clearer embrace. 

James opened his mouth and closed it again, then burst out laughing, seemingly in spite of himself. Jeremy couldn’t help but join him; even under these nervous circumstances, he loved provoking that reaction. Slowly, tentatively, James moved a little closer. He was no longer shivering and had even relaxed his shoulders a little. But he still felt tense under Jeremy’s arm, poised to move away, as if waiting for the punchline, and that simply would not do. 

“James,” he said gently. “I’ll make a joke if you want, pretend that this whole thing was just me taking the piss. But I’m really hoping that isn’t what you want.” 

If at all possible, James stiffened even further, frowning slightly in thought. Then he relaxed completely, almost leaning into Jeremy now. Almost. “So you have been flirting with me, then.” It was more revelation than question. “Actually flirting, not just that thing you do with… well… more or less everyone really. And the occasional Ford GT.”

Jeremy smiled, finally relaxing a little himself. “James, I’ve been thinking – a _lot_ actually – and I…” _Crap. Words._ Now would be the perfect time at last, but where were the words?

James turned in the half circle of his arm to face him, an absolutely brilliant smile on his face. “Don’t. It doesn’t suit you.” And talking of flirting, those words had more than a tinge of _Hullo_ about them.

Emboldened by the familiarity of several longstanding jokes, Jeremy took James fully into his arms and kissed him at last. The first press of lips was tender, searching. Jeremy could feel James smile against his mouth before kissing him back eagerly, lips parting to admit the at first hesitant request of his tongue. Oh God, he’d wanted this for so long and it was perfect. He pulled James closer, hands sliding restlessly over his back. And it was Jeremy’s turn to shiver when he finally slipped one up under the soft material of James’ jumper, the feel of warm bare skin against his palm electric. James moaned and grabbed the belt loops of his jeans, hauling Jeremy closer still and deepening the kiss. And, oh yes, this.

Finally, reluctantly they pulled away, breathless and grinning. James’ hand remained on Jeremy’s hip, thumb stroking just under his jumper and every touch of skin sent little sparks of want racing through him. Jeremy couldn’t bring himself to stop touching James either, running his thumb over kiss-reddened lips, reaching out to brush the wind-tousled hair from his eyes.

“Was that better?” Jeremy teased, his voice much huskier than he’d intended.

“Than you thinking? Oh, much.” James flushed and lowered his eyes almost shyly. “Only, I have to warn you, if you kiss me like that again I'm going to want to do it a lot more.”

“Do keep up, Slow,” Jeremy said, cupping his cheek to tilt his head back for another kiss. “That is the entire point of my brilliant plan.”

 

\-----

Jeremy was forty-five when his co-presenter caught him the first time, lost in one of the most achingly tender kisses of his life and completely unaware until just that moment that anything existed beyond the two of them. James certainly wasn’t the first person he had ever kissed, and not even the first bloke, but if Jeremy had his way, then James would be the only person he kissed from now on.

Richard gasped. And then laughed. “Oh God, you two. Well it’s about bloody time!”

There was a lot of shocked sputtering and stammering before Jeremy found the words to ask the smug midget just exactly what he meant by ‘it’s about bloody time’.

Richard’s eyebrow shot up to his hairline. “Oh, you mean you thought you were being discreet with your rampant man crush all this time? Right, because that’s what people think of when they think of Top Gear: Jeremy Clarkson and his incredible subtlety.”

Richard grinned at James, who appeared to have gotten over the shock of discovery quite nicely now that they were back in the familiar territory of jokes and mockery, and they both shook their heads. “No,” they agreed at more or less the same time, “that’s not what they say at all.”

Richard smiled in solidarity with James for only a moment longer before clapping him on the shoulder and giving him the same smug look that he’d given Jeremy. “Laugh all you want, mate, but you’re only marginally better.” Which, of course, set James sputtering in embarrassment again.

“All right then, chaps. Dinner?” Richard asked, rubbing his hands together and looking exceptionally pleased with himself. Pleased for the two of them as well if the unusual shine in those expressive brown eyes was anything to go by. “Or did you just want to stand out here molesting each other all night and see who else happens by?”

Jeremy was highly in favor of option B, actually, but the man had a point. He glanced at James over Richard’s shoulder and was blown away by the heat in that playful smile. He found himself positively beaming in response. Right. Dinner first, and then they could find someplace secluded to explore more of the nuances of his brilliant plan.

 

\-----

Being an adult this time around, at least from a chronological standpoint, Jeremy didn’t wait for his mother to catch him kissing James. He called and told her the news the very next day. And, if in the middle of being extremely happy for him, she was also just a tad bit smug, in that way that one is when they’re at least nominally trying to appear not to be and failing miserably, well, at least he knew that he came by the trait honestly.


End file.
